Same Ol' Situation
by aBlue Gillespian
Summary: Two ordinary Hollywood stars get caught up in an evil plot in a world they never thought could exist outside a film script. Can they rely on the mysterious Captain Jack Harkness to get them safely home again or will this be their final curtain?"
1. Chapter 1

**DICLAIMER: I don't own anything you recognise here apart from all the Discworld's books and most of the Motley Crue's albums.**

**A/N: This is a crossover with the Terry Pratchett's Discworld series. Since not many people visit the crossover's section I decided to move this story in here. I know the summary focuses on Jack, but there will be much more happening than a story about Jack Harkness in here I promise.**

**I finally have beta for this story so I'm going to re-post the chapters and maybe have some inspiration to keep writing it. I want to say thank you to my beta Brownbug for all her hard work. I don't know how I can ever make it up to her really. You are an angel girl, you know that?**

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><p>It was a dark and stormy night. The sort of night in which strange and secret things happen. A night in which the ghosts come out to haunt the castles and the living. The kind of night when witches dance around fires, some of them naked some gratefully for our audience not.<p>

We plead with our reader to excuse the use of the clichés in the beginning of this story, but clichés here are unavoidable. And indeed it was night, hence it was dark, and it did rain, therefore it was stormy. So it was a dark and stormy night. And here we have to go into another cliché - there were four shadowy figures coming out of the surrounding shadows, wearing black cloaks, carrying a bag which appeared very heavy, in the shape of what appeared to be a body. And here is where our hero and heroine come into the story.

They weren't your average clichéd hero and heroine at all. The hero was more of a man that looked like someone who had just come out from a night in a really suspicious bar, and who suffered from a permanent hangover. As for our heroine, she was a bimbo blonde, with the look of a woman who needs to use all the available make-up in the store in attempt to hide her age and appear 20. Her chest could put to shame a barrage balloon and you could put your cup of tea on her rear end and it would stay still. She looked like a woman who needs a tent sized dress to cover her chest, but what she wears instead is just a bit longer than a leather belt. Despite all this, or maybe because of it, our hero could never keep his eyes or hands away from our heroine. Keeping to the shadows of the towering buildings, our heroes watched quietly, quite frankly frightened, while the four suspicious persons in black dumped the bag on the street and looked around to make sure no one had seen them.

"I wish the Guild of Assassins had stuck to doing the job the classic way. When I signed up, no-one told me that I'd have to dispose of the bodies like this. Where's the honour and the fame in this?" a deep baritone voice came from one of the black figures.

"Shut up! Don't talk about the Assassin's Guild, you don't know who might hear you! We don't want anyone to connect this to us and if Lord Vetinary hears you complaining about his school, he's going to find you a fine place!" came a little squeaky frightened voice from another of the dark figures.

"Well, he wasn't the one to mention His Excellency's name," came a third voice. And in a puff of smoke (sorry about yet another cliché, but we need it), the four black figures were gone, leaving behind the human-shaped bag and two very confused figures cowering in the shadows.

Our hero was the first to collect enough courage to come out of hiding and, despite knowing that he should not put his nose where it could get sticky, he made his way over to check on the mysterious bag. And, because curiosity your name is Tommy, and trouble your surname is Lee, our hero did not feel satisfied to only sneak a glance at the dumped baggage, he had to go and poke it too.

Our heroine - well, seeing as we already have a name for our hero, we probably shouldn't keep on calling her 'our heroine', but should reveal her name as well - so our heroine, whom from now on we should call Pamela Anderson, closed the space between her and Tommy with stereotypical blonde (we want our blonde readers to excuse us) stupid curiosity. After a moment of nothing significant happening, there was another ping and a puff, and our heroes were gone much the same way the black figures had disappeared not long ago. Gone was the bag too.

"What the hell just happened?" squeaked Pamela in fright, clinging to Tommy's hand and not moving her gaze off the suspicious bag, that despite their change of location was still at their feet.

"I don't know," Tommy answered, looking around and not recognising the place. They clearly weren't in the same place they were in a few seconds ago. "But I don't think we're in Kansas any more, Dorothy."

"My name's not Dorothy!" the blond bimbo pouted, confused.

"I know that!" Tommy huffed. "It's just a joke." He looked to see if his wife understood but met only a blank look. "Oh, never mind, forget it."

There was a movement from the bag and a voice came from within it. "Well, are you going to finally open this thing and help me out, or are you just going to stand there wondering how you got here and leave me to suffocate? Because I'll let you know that if I suffocate and die you'll have to wait for another half an hour to ask me about this place."

Tommy looked at Pamela with raised eyebrows. "Did you hear something?"

She pointed at the bag and shook her head. "I…I…I t-think the body in the bag talked."

"Don't be ridiculous! If I was a body I wouldn't be able to talk," came the impatient masculine voice again.

"See!" Pamela squeaked and jumped back.

"But bags can't talk!" Tommy shouted at the bag, but went nevertheless to open it and see what was there and why it was talking instead of staying dead and quiet as every decent dead body should do. Upon opening the bag, a handsome man sprang to his feet, frightening the life out of the couple.

"Now then, that's better!" he exclaimed with a grin, as he put out his hand to shake theirs. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness, and who might you be, gorgeous?"


	2. Chapter 2

**DISCLAIMER: I still don't own anything you would recognise except the books I bought. I don't even own Motley Crue's Girls, Girls, Girls CD anymore since it broke.**

**A/N: As I said I'm not even sure how long I would keep on updating this story as is just a joke, but I found a great beta who is willing to edit this. Thank you Brownbug for yet another great job; I don't know what I would do without your support? I want to thank IronSpokeMaster for the review and what to say that this is chapter is written for her. Her interest inspired me to write more of this.**

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><p>If you ever spent enough time on the streets of Ankh Morpork, you would probably end up in the same situation as Foul Ole Ron. You would be able to say that you had seen almost all that there is to be seen. However, lying in the dirt and the shadows and drinking down his well-watered whiskey, Foul Ole Ron didn't expect to see a blue box materialise out of nowhere. At first, he paid no heed when he heard a noise that sounded like an ancient beast dying, because he thought it very well could be. Since all those trolls and dwarves had arrived and became permanent residents, who knew what lurked in the night of Ankh Morpork, hidden deep in the shadows? The beast, however, gave another wheezing groan and a blue box started to appear, seemingly out of thin air. Foul Ole Ron lifted the bottle to his face, shook it and then sniffed. It definitely smelled like whiskey and not some sort of wizard's potion, but this was the first time drinking alcohol had ever given him hallucinations. He'd heard from some of his tramp buddies that some of the grog bought from places too near the Unseen University could give you strange visions. But he hadn't even bought this bottle - he had merely boiled it up out of whatever scanty remnants of alcohol he had managed to find left over in stray bottles. After the shape of the mysterious box solidified, the door opened and a tall lanky man in a long brown coat came out, followed by a noisy, fiery-haired woman. This was the last proverbial drop that Foul Ole Ron's proverbial glass could hold. He took one last sip from his bottle and threw it on the ground, promising himself that he would never drink again.<p>

When the Doctor told Donna that they were following a signal sent by some kind of Captain, she had expected to find herself either in a cutting-edge military base, surrounded by good-looking soldier-boys, or on a ship. What she didn't expect when emerging from the TARDIS was to find herself in a dank, dark and smelly alley, near a river that was even more dark and smelly than the alley.

"Oi, Spaceman! Exactly what kind of a captain would be caught dead hanging around a place like this?" Donna was quick to express her disappointment. "Why is it never sun and beaches and nice half-naked, muscled men with you?"

"If you wanted that sort of thing, you should have gone on a cruise to the Caribbean, not in the TARDIS with me," the Doctor told her firmly, but then broke into a grin. "If I know my Captain, he'll already have found the nearest bar and will be busy chatting up everything and everyone in sight."

"Yeah, well, if he's spent half the time I've spent with you, Martian Boy, I wouldn't blame him!" Donna wrinkled her nose, annoyed at the smell in the alley. "This place stinks. Where are we anyway? Some medieval earth city?"

The Doctor looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted another head and answered matter-of-factly, "It's Ankh- Morpork, Donna. Not even a medieval city would smell and look this bad." Then, apparently entering lecture mode, he added, "It's on a planet called Discworld. The world is actually flat and is supported on the backs of four elephants, which in turn are on the back of a giant turtle."

It was Donna's turn to look at him as if he just told her that he was from Mars. Well, technically she wouldn't be that shocked if he did, but a whole world carried by elephants and turtles? He had to be kidding.

"Are you having me on, Spaceman?" she demanded, her eyes narrowed suspiciously, the dangerous note in her voice more than enough to warn him that trying to make her look stupid would cost him a substantial amount of pain.

"No, I'm serious. These particular elephants and turtle are both rare space species, like the Star Whale. They're almost extinct and these are the last," the Doctor told her, his voice tinged with sadness. She squeezed his hand gently, understanding that this hit a bit too close home for him.

"So this Discworld, who lives on it?" she asked with her enthusiasm back, trying to cheer him up. "No, don't tell me, let me guess," she continued before he could reply, gesturing with her hands to emphasise her words. The Doctor smiled at her lively excitement. That was what he loved so much about Donna - she was so curious and noisy it never left him time to wallow in self-pity.

"They're purple, aren't they?" she guessed, still firing questions at him without bothering to wait for the answers. "No, they're orange and have tentacles. No, wait, I have a better one, they're…." She trailed off as she heard the sound of heavy footsteps clomping along just in front of her. "… huge! What is that thing?" she shrieked, clutching at the Doctor's arm and pointing at a tall, broad figure that looked as if it was made out of rock.

"Oh, that! That's a troll," the Doctor told her nonchalantly.

"A troll?" Donna looked at him in disbelief. "Shouldn't we be running?" she demanded, her voice nervously lowered. "I don't fancy becoming a dinner."

"Hardly," the Doctor replied. "He's wearing a Night Watch uniform."

"A troll that's a police officer?" Donna asked, her voice returning to its usual volume. "No way! You are kidding me, right?"

"Donna, we're on a flat planet where magic is the essential force that holds everything together and keeps it working. Is a troll in the police force so unbelievable?" the Doctor asked, lifting an eyebrow at her.

She stared at him, opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, only to open it again, looking as if she was trying for the perfect impression of a blow-fish. Then she shook her head and puffed out her cheeks in exasperation. Pointing at him, she turned sharply on her heel and started off down the alley.

"What now?" the Doctor sighed in some irritation, before jogging after her. Somehow, Donna always managed to bring out both the very best and the very worst in him. He followed her until she reached the troll, who she tapped tentatively on the arm.

"Excuse me, Mister Police Officer, but have you seen a charming human Captain dressed in a vintage World War Two greatcoat?" she asked in a polite voice, already over the shock of seeing the troll in uniform. After all, she had seen a lot of strange things while travelling with the Doctor.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I don't know what a World War Two is. We never had a World War, as far as I know. Not that I know all that much, as Commander Vimes would soon tell you," the troll said, a bit confused by the red-headed woman in front of him. "But if you want to find someone who's got themselves lost in the night, I would suggest the Mended Drum."

"Thank you," the woman nodded, before rejoining the tall stranger standing at the back of the alley.

"He said that we should look for the Mended Drum," Donna informed the Doctor.

"Well, I could have told you that, without you having to go and make conversation with a troll," he grinned at her. Taking her by the hand, he towed her along behind him, heading for the place he knew the bar to be. "I have to warn you, though, that the Mended Drum isn't the best place for a woman. But it is certainly the most logical place to find one Captain Jack Harkness."

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><p>The man that had introduced himself as Captain Jack Harkness led them into a busy and noisy bar, filled with filthy, suspicious-looking creatures that were not necessarily human. Pamela clung to Tommy's arm, staring around her in shock. She had hoped that Tommy would provide her with some courage, but he was looking just as shocked and scared as she was. Neither of them could believe what they were seeing.<p>

"'Evening, Captain," a really short man - was that a dwarf? - greeted their guide.

"'Evening, Rhys," the Captain answered. It was obvious that he was well-known in this place, so it wasn't his first time visiting. However, why he had brought them here, our two heroes still did not know.

"Go sit at a table while I buy us some drinks," the Captain told Tommy. "There aren't many rules around here, but there's one or two things you'll need to remember. Don't stare at anyone, no matter how strange they look. Don't say anything about dwarves or trolls and, most importantly, don't by any means call him a monkey." With this last instruction, he pointed at an orang-utan who was sitting at the bar, drinking ale.

"But he is a monkey! And he's drinking beer!" Pamela blurted out unwisely.

"Shhhhhh…I said don't," the Captain urged her into silence. "He's an orang-utan."

"But it's drinking beer! " Tommy insisted, earning him a pointed and frustrated look from the Captain. "Shouldn't it be in the zoo, or the jungle?"

This particular comment earned him more than just a disapproving look from the Captain - it earned them the sudden silence of the whole bar and an angry growl from the orang-utan, who placed his glass on the table with a sharp clack and started making his way towards the small group of new arrivals.

"Why do they never listen when I warn them?" Jack said with a hard done-by sigh, as he turned placatingly towards the advancing behemoth. "Look, he didn't mean to offend you! He's new and he doesn't know. Please, Librarian, I really like his face - don't ruin it!"

"Librarian?" Tommy gasped, his body paralysed by fear and the bile rising in his stomach as the furry mountain came closer and closer.

"Yeah, he's the Librarian of the Unseen University," Jack informed them, just before the orang-utan picked Tommy up and turned him upside down. For the next few harrowing minutes, his topsy-turvy world consisted of an avalanche of fur choking his nostrils, while a pair of heavy leather hands busily rearranged his teeth. Just when he thought that the overgrown monkey might actually try to fold him into a ball and throw him out through the window, the door opened and a tall man in a pinstripe suit and a shocked-looking woman with bright red hair entered the bar.

"Oi, Spaceman, do something! That big monkey is trying to kill that poor man!" the red-head shouted and the pinstripe man groaned audibly.

The Librarian dropped Tommy on the floor with a thump and looked over at Donna, growling deep in his throat.

"What's a monkey doing in a bar anyway?" Donna continued obliviously, despite a sharp jab in the ribs from the Doctor.

"No, Donna, don't…" he tried to warn her, but too late. The monkey was already advancing their way, flexing its knuckles.

"What are you looking at me like that for, fur-boy?" Donna said to the orang-utan, stubbornly standing her ground with her hands on her hips, her mouth running ahead of her brain, as usual. "You shouldn't be here drinking!"

The Librarian reached out an enormous hand to pick the annoying woman up, but found her pulling at his fur and slapping his face instead.

"Oook?"

"Didn't your mother ever teach you never to lay hands on a lady?" Donna demanded indignantly, her words cutting across the sudden stunned silence. No one even dared to breathe in awed expectation of whatever disaster was about to happen next.

However, the Librarian only looked at Donna and asked again, "Oook?"

Then he gave her his equivalent of a smile and patted her on the back. Admittedly, the huge orang-utan's idea of an approving pat was enough to send her reeling, but since she went flying backwards into the arms of the most gorgeous man she had ever met, she wasn't about to complain.

"Hello!" she said, gazing up into his ocean-blue eyes.

"Hello!" the handsome man answered back, steadying her with his strong, capable hands. "Is that the new version of the Doctor?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: If I have to repeat myself well. I don't own anything you will recognise here. Thought I bought a new Girl, Girls, Girls CD. **

**A/N: I want to say a huge thank you to Brownbug for her great work and support.**

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><p>The murmur of the unhappy wizards could be heard right throughout the entire Unseen University, emanating from the common room, travelling all the way to the kitchens and even along the corridors as far as the student's quarters. The heads of the wizard departments had been summoned by Archchancellor Mustrum Ridcully to discuss some serious issues:- namely, the matter of a body that would not stay dead and, even more importantly, the shortage of funds which had led the Archchancellor to reduce their allowance of cheese and to cancel second breakfast. The current uproar was being caused by a couple of senior wizards, who had become very irate after hearing of the Archchancellor's controversial decision to cut the available helpings of lunch from three down to only two.<p>

As we all should know by now, the wizards of the Unseen University have lived for centuries in the belief that their superior and exclusive role in the world is to do the difficult work of thinking, thereby keeping the space-time continuum in check and ensuring the safety of the citizens of Ankh-Morpork. So, in their opinion, with so much responsibility resting on their shoulders, what were a couple of extra servings of food and cheese, here and there? And that was the merry way the wizards had lived until the new Archchancellor had come to be the head of the University. Unlike every one of his wise and humble predecessors, the new Archchancellor did not believe in the tried and true method of standing back and allowing the lesser folk that were accustomed to hard work to get on with it, while the wizards ate and discussed and generally pretended to be doing something very important, until the mess sorted itself out. No, the new Archchancellor believed in such bizarre notions as physical exercise, and knowing about all the affairs that were occurring inside the Unseen University, and being involved in the important events of the city.

Much to the disappointment of the wizard committee, they could find no way to remove Mustrum Ridcully from his position of authority, thanks to his uncanny alertness and general tendency to vigilance. In the past, when someone wanted the post of Archchancellor, or enough wizards were unhappy with the situation, they had merely needed to arrange an unfortunate accident during work or spell time, thereby getting rid of the unwanted incumbent. Archchancellor Ridcully, however, was proving to be quite a big and unmovable problem. Hence, much against their will, the senior wizards were forced to congregate in the University's courtyard every morning, puffing and grumping, to do a series of undignified stretches on empty stomachs. Not to mention that they were expected to actually try and sort out the problems of the city. Such a thing was unheard of before now. The very thought of senior wizards undertaking any form of exercise other than eating, smoking and thinking of the next mess they could get themselves and the whole city into, as if they were mere students, such a shame!

"Archchancellor, I understand the Bursar's concerns about not being able to think on an empty stomach, but could we perhaps get back to the reason I called this meeting in the first place?" A young wizard by the name of Ponder Stibbons lifted his quill, trying to recall the attention of his colleagues to the topic of the undead body.

If anything, the murmur increased, and the wizards started to talk over each other in voices that became more and more raised as the minutes slid by. Eventually, the pandemonium became so loud and argumentative that the Chair of Indefinite Studies even managed to steal the Dean's cheese without anyone noticing. Such was the unhappy chaos around the common room.

"The Bursar can't think even on a stuffed stomach," the Lecturer of Recent Runes said, trying to simultaneously stuff his pipe and keep his cheese safe from the Indefinite Studies. "Perhaps his thought processes might even improve when his stomach is empty."

"It won't work," the Dean commented. "He'll just need more dried frog pills." Then he turned his head indignantly towards the Chair of Indefinite Studies, who was busy trying to steal another helping from his plate, saying, "I think that was the most successful spell I've ever seen from you!"

"At least he can do some spells," the Bursar shouted, attempting to be heard over the roar of the other wizards.

"Bursar, go and take your pills, before you have another episode," the Dean said.

The shouting in the room escalated again and any coherent dialogue was lost in the bedlam of wizards jumping, shouting and accusing each other. Ponder Stibbons looked around with disdain, wondering, not for the first time in his life, how he had ever ended up here. Once again he tried to lift his quill to get their attention. He might be young and only the clerk of the UU, but there were times when he thought that he was more mature than any of these old fools.

"Gentlemen," the Archchancellor bellowed in an attempt to quiet them. "If there are any gentlemen around here at all? Let us be mature."

"Mature, Archchancellor?" the Lecturer in the Recent Runes asked, sounding genuinely puzzled. "There is nothing mature about this place."

This might have started another heated discussion, but at least it stopped the previous one and gave Ponder Stibbons the opening and the opportunity to try to resume the original agenda of the meeting.

"Gentlemen, please! We have an undead body here to discuss," he cried. "Ring any bells?"

"Not a tinkle," said Senior Wrangler brightly.

"Good heavens, this has gone far enough," Mustrum Ridcully exclaimed. "As for the body, we already know who it is, Mr Stibbons. It's Captain Harkness."

Among the following grumbles and mumbles, the voice of the Bursar was heard complaining yet again about the reduced serving of food. "Great! Now that we have solved the mystery of the body, why don't we go back to the important matter of our lunch?" he asked.

"Yes, quite, Bursar, but we are still gathered around this table as the representatives of the most intelligent people in this city to discuss relevant problems," said Mustrum Ridcully calmly. "I hardly think that our food can be such an important topic, since what makes a wizard a wizard is surely not how much he eats."

"We were living quite contentedly in that belief until recently," several disgruntled voices murmured, loudly enough to be heard but quietly enough to make sure it was impossible for Stibbons and the Archchancellor to actually detect who they belonged to.

"What makes a wizard a wizard is the ability to do magic and the hat he wears. The hat is very important, no wizard should lose his hat," Ponder Stibbons explained proudly.

"No, Mr Stibbons," said Ridcully. "What makes a wizard a wizard is not the magic. Heavens knows, the witches manage it as well. And it's not the hat, since the old crones wear hats too. What makes a wizard as such is the ability to sort out his own mess after he gets himself into it, and the capacity to think and improvise on the go. Now, you might wonder why I'm raising this issue all of a sudden."

In the ensuing silence, there were some more faint grumblings, as well as a few heads bobbing up and down in agreement with the Archchancellor. Most of the fore-mentioned agreement seemed to relate to the wondering part. As a whole, the group of wizards were not much more the wiser after two hours of discussion than when they had started - the only difference was they were more hungry and tired. And a hungry wizard was an unhappy wizard; hence they all were ready to agree to anything the Archchancellor proposed, however ridiculous it might seem.

"So according to your theory, Mustrum, Captain Harkness is part of our mess?" Senior Wrangler asked.

"Very clever, old chap," said Ridcully happily. "That's exactly what I was saying. As you know, we've had dealings with the good Captain before. We summoned him again, because something strange was happening and Death was refusing to do his work. Since the Captain is from the little people, who can deal with Him without being afraid, we had to summon him from the other Dimension. Then, only a couple of days ago, the Captain disappeared."

Ridcully's revelation caused uproar once more in the common room. The situation seemed quite serious and the alarmed wizards could see their lazy and calm lives being disturbed again, requiring them to wrack their brains.

"If I might add something to the discussion?" Ponder Stibbons spoke up quietly, almost shyly.

"Yes, Mr Stibbons," prompted Ridcully. "Has your Hex come to any conclusion?"

"Yes, Archchancellor, exactly," said Stibbons, proud of his machine. "The Hex has worked on the problem for the whole day and has made some calculations. The result is in here somewhere…" Sitbbons started to frantically rummage through his papers and mutter under his breath. Finally finding the right paper, he handed it over to the Lecturer in Recent Runes to look at, before passing it to Ridcully. The Recent Runes glared at it, made a show of turning it upside down and, still being unable to comprehend it, made a face while swiftly folding the paper into a makeshift origami bird and throwing it into the air to fly.

Stibbons remained unruffled. He was more than used to this kind of treatment. None of the other wizards ever seemed to comprehend the complex maths his Hex produced. "As you might have seen in this paper," he continued blandly. "The Hex has come to the conclusion that our summoning of Captain Harkness has disturbed the balance of the space-time continuum. We took him from the other dimension, and it seems he is a very important person there, which means that we should have sent someone in his place to keep the balance. But we didn't."

"So, Mr Stibbons, what do you propose we do?" Ridcully asked him, his eyes distractedly following the flight path of the Recent Runes' paper bird.

"I propose we send someone to replace him as soon as possible, otherwise we may well end up having to deal with the creatures from the Dungeon Dimensions," said Stibbons, almost giving up on gaining the undivided attention of his fellow wizards. The old fools have an attention span worse than a troll's, he thought sourly. "The Hex has calculated that the best person to send over there is Rincewind…"

Before Stibbons could finish, a chorus of voices erupted, all talking over each other again.

"Wha…"

"Are you sure?"

"That's ludicrous!"

"He's the only wizard who misspelled 'Wizard' on his hat."

The Archchancellor was forced to knock loudly with his staff on the large and heavy oak table to restore order in the room. The sound echoed and vibrated for a while in the spacious domed room, making all the occupants look ashamed. Quieting down, they sheepishly turned their heads to Archchancellor Ridcully and their attention back to the topic at hand.

"Mr Stibbons, you were saying…" Ridcully prompted.

"Yes, yes, after consulting with Hex, I think we should send Rincewind," Stibbons finished and sat down, waiting for the others to ponder on the information and make a decision.

"Are you sure that the Hex hasn't got an error in its programming again?" asked the Chair of the Indefinite Studies. "Rincewind is hardly the most important or useful wizard."

"Well, unless you're volunteering, old chap?" asked Ridcully

"No, of course not," the Indefinite Studies hurried to assure him.

"As we know, the other dimension is quite dangerous, and since Rincewind is the most experienced in running for his life, I feel this is the best decision," Ponder Stibbons concluded his argument.

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><p>In his quiet room, Rincewind hoped to find a sanctuary and escape from the doom that he suspected the latest wizards' project was going to bring down on all of them. He knew that, as he was not there for the discussion, he might not be allowed even a second helping of cheese during lunch time, but what was a sacrifice of some feta cheese compared to keeping all the parts of your body intact? Because he prided himself upon being quite a remarkable coward, Rincewind always preferred to keep his body in good shape, since maintaining his physical fitness made it much easier to run for his life when required. As a result, he didn't have much use for the wizard's traditional second and third helpings.<p>

Sitting on his chair, pretending that he was doing some really important geological research, he hoped in vain that the other wizards would forget about his existence. However, from past experience, this was very unlikely to happen, and quite how he always ended up in the thick of things he never knew. The only thing he ever wanted was to be left alone and forgotten, in peace. The only thing he ever got was to be catapulted slap bang into the centre of the mess. He thought sometimes that Fate hated him. At other times, he thought that she was just having a joke with him. What he would have preferred was for her not to care at all.

As if reading his gloomy thoughts and deciding that it was time for yet another joke, Fate chose that moment to send the wizard's council down to his workplace. At the head of the group was Mustrum Ridcully, smiling suspiciously.

"Rincewind, old chap," the Archchancellor exclaimed in an overly enthusiastic tone. "How are you these days?"

Rincewind gulped, nervously anticipating what was to follow. "All the better for not having to go out until I finish my research here, Archchancellor," he croaked, through a throat that had suddenly gone dry. "Which will take at least a couple of more days."

"I'm afraid we can't wait that long, my friend, we need your talents right now," said Ridcully authoritatively.

"What, now?" Rincewind almost squeaked the question. "What is so important?"

The wizards looked at each other, as if wondering who would be the one to break the news to him. In the end, the Bursar stepped forward with a cheerful expression – whether it was because he was amused by what he was going to say to Rincewind or because he had forgotten his dried frog pills no one knew - while the Dean went to block the door, as if expecting Rincewind to try to escape at any moment.

"We found the problem with Captain Harkness and now we have to send you to the other world," said the Bursar, still cheerful.

"But, I can't even do a proper spell," Rincewind tried one last attempt to save himself, despite knowing how futile it was and that he was doomed anyway. "What use am I going to be?"

"There's no need for magic," Ridcully explained. "The other world does not run on magic, it runs on science. Beside, you aren't that bad! I can remember you making a spell and saving our lives when you caused the stairs and the roof of the tower to cave in and bury that monster under the stones."

"But surely if the other world runs on science - if for one moment we dare to believe that such a thing is possible - then isn't Mr Stibbons the most logical choice?" asked Rincewind, trembling. "As for that spell, it was an accident! I was actually trying to build up a wall to block the monster on the other side."

But however hard Rincewind tried to persuade them, the other wizards had had already decided to doom him to his malicious fate and were not moved by his pleas. It was decided that as soon as they finished lunch, they would prepare the room to cast the spell and open the Rift. They left Rincewind to his misery, promising to let Mrs Whitlow know to bring his lunch down to his cabinet, since he refused to join them in the common room. He was already feeling like someone having his last meal before his execution and he didn't want to have to pretend that he was feeling brave while eating it. At least he might have the chance to get rid of the luggage, he thought, trying to think positively. Unless the luggage followed him even to the other dimension.

* * *

><p>Ianto was mindlessly going around tidying the Hub, as per usual. "Dear Lord, how many pieces of pizza can Owen drop under the sofa?" he asked himself, lifting with disgust yet another slab of dried meat-feast. Jack had left them again, swashbuckling who knows where around the Universe, probably charming another alien out of their pants, and all the work was left to the four of them. Not that there had been much work lately. Ianto would almost prefer the danger of being savaged to death by a Weevil, rather than going brain dead from boredom or dying of hepatitis contracted from some of the less than hygenic Torchwood work stations. Trying not to think how many germs the last mug he removed from Gwen's work station must contain after being left there to grow mould, he dumped them in the sink and went to check on Jack's office.<p>

Something behind him made him jump and turn around. Amongst some really colourful curses from Gwen- which Ianto was sure a lady should not know unless she was taking a special course in gangsta language - and the clatter of Owen's knocked off tools, a body was spat from the Rift, right into the middle of the Hub.

The body turned out to be a man with a long white beard and hair, dressed in a strange star patterned dress and a matching hat. The intruder lay sprawled on the ground, unmoving but apparently alive, if the considerable amount of muffled groaning and cursing coming from him was any indication.

"What is that?" Toshiko was the first to regain her voice. Automatically, she ran a scan on the newcomer, who still did not move, but was now looking at them with something very like fear. "He scans as an alien life form. He's not from here."

"Maybe it's Jack's Doctor?" Gwen suggested helpfully. "He does look sort of wise and authoritative."

"If he is Jack's, he's Jack's wizard, not Jack's Doctor," Ianto said calmly.

"You've read too much Harry Potter, Tea-boy," Owen grumped. "Does it even talk?"

"It's on his hat, it says 'Wisard'," Ianto said, emphasising his words by pointing at the creature's hat. "It presumably means 'Wizard'."

The figure on the ground finally managed to overcome his shock and fear and cleared his throat loudly. Everyone suddenly stopped talking and tensed, reaching for their weapons. Rincewind looked at the door, which was situated on the opposite side of the room, and tried to calculate exactly how much time he would need to run across and reach it. It looked quite heavy, but when he was afraid for his life and wanted to get away, he had been known to do even stranger things than managing to open almost unmovable doors.

"If I might interrupt," he said nervously, his voice quivering with uncertainty. "I'm not a Doctor, but as you already guessed, I'm wizard and I come from another dimension, to compensate for the temporary borrowing of your Captain Harkness from your world."

Shocked silence followed his words until finally, after a couple of tense minutes, someone burst out laughing.

"Yes, and I'm the Apocalypse Horseman," said Ianto wryly.

"No, actually that would be me," a strange voice said hollowly, as another figure unexpectedly stepped through the Rift. This visitor was much more imposing than the first one and wore a black hooded cape. No matter how hard they tried to see under the hood, all they could make out was a flash of white and a pair of burning red eyes, set in what seemed to be empty sockets. In his left hand, the figure held a scythe.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own anything you will recognise here, but I do own a copy of the new Terry Pratchett book. **

**A/N: A big thanks to everyone who reviewed the previous chapters and a special thank you to my wonderful beta Brownbug.**

* * *

><p>Donna looked in surprise at the man holding her. Then she smiled, finally seeing an opportunity to try out her womanly wiles. She fluttered her eyelashes at him, trying for the sexy Hollywood bimbo look, but ended up missing by a mile, managing to look more like she had a chronic tic in her eye instead.<p>

Her gorgeous rescuer was much taller than her, and Donna soon became aware that one look down would reveal to him much more of her ample cleavage than a lady should. With a blush, she tried to cover herself up. The pretty captain held into her a bit longer than necessary, his eyes scanning her body from head to toe, resting longest of all on her chest. He grinned at her, holding her waist, until a not-so-polite cough interrupted them.

"You do know I'm still here, right, Captain?" the Doctor asked, sounding a bit annoyed at Donna, although she had no idea why. Oh, if that skinny alien was going to act jealous and ruin her fun, she was going to chew him up and spit him out, and then give him to her mother to digest. "This is Donna Noble, my new companion. Donna, Captain Jack Harkness…"

Jack released her and smiled cheekily at the Doctor. Donna thought that if he wasn't a Captain, he could easily pass for some Hollywood actor. His smile was fake and shiny, like the Colgate advert guys, perfect but unreal, which was not a problem for Donna. It was certainly much better than the last smile she'd seen directed at her while travelling with the Doctor. That guy in the French court - what was his name? Portos, Donna recalled - thought he was going to charm her, and he almost did, until he smiled.

"Oi, introducing myself is _my_ bit when I'm saying 'Hello'," the Captain protested with a grin. "You can't rob me of my best lines, Doc."

"I think you've already done enough introduction," the Doctor rebuffed him and Donna felt like hitting the alien prat on the head with something heavy, before he did more damage to her budding acquaintance with the charming officer.

"I was just checking if she was OK," Jack protested, lifting his hands jokingly in the air to show the Doctor that he meant no harm.

"Well, it took you long enough!" the Doctor started accusingly, but finished with a grunt, after receiving an elbow in the ribs and a foot on his toes.

"There was a lot to examine," Jack answered, giving Donna another lingering look.

"Oi, flyboy, did you just call me fat?" Donna demanded, feeling the sudden need to defend her appearance.

It was strange for Jack Harkness to be lost for words, but in the face of her offended anger, he forgot all his usual charm. Backing away with his hands lifted, he opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it, before trying again and finally stammering out a lame apology.

"No, no, of course not, Ms Noble," he assured her. "I was just saying that there's plenty to notice and admire in you."

_Way to put your foot in your gob, Jack Harkness_, he thought, annoyed at his high-school-boy-like lack of tact. Although, the woman didn't look too angry. In fact, she seemed to take it as a compliment, glancing at the Doctor with an amused expression that almost said, "See, I still got it!"

As usual for places like the Mended Drum, if no one got thrown out, or killed, the patrons soon lost interest. Therefore, after seeing that the brawl wasn't going to get any more interesting, they sombrely turned back to their drinks, disappointed. No-one was interested in watching some woman bat her eyelashes at a bloke. Fists and blood were way more exciting, not to mention that you could choose a side and cheer, at least until you got pulled into the melee. The scene was broken by a sob and a really noisy blow of a nose, prompting everyone to turn around to stare at the blonde bimbo clutching her husband's arm.

"Tommy, are we going to go home soon?" Pamela sobbed openly to the man next to her. "I don't like this place, it's too strange. Is it some kind of play I wasn't aware of?"

The only answer Tommy gave her was a silent shake of his head. He knew that this wasn't a play, but had no more idea of where they were than she did. The enigmatic Captain and the other man in the brown coat both seemed to know what this place was, so he preferred to let them explain it all. They both seemed to be into wearing long coats and Tommy wondered if they fancied themselves as some kind of heroes, swishing their coats around. The concept seemed a bit childish and silly. He almost itched to ask whether their coats got in the way when they were trying to do their jobs.

"If you're here, then there is a reason for it. The wizards wouldn't bring you here otherwise." The explanation came from the Doctor, who was watching the Librarian intently, as if he was planning on asking the orang-utan for some kind of favour.

"What are these wizards then?" Donna inquired, still looking dazedly at the dashing captain.

"The wizards are a bunch of arrogant old fools who always meddle in things they don't understand, and have an uncanny ability to repeatedly get themselves into dire situations," the Doctor explained patiently to her.

"Sounds familiar," Donna commented quietly, then grinned at the Doctor teasingly. "Are you sure you didn't graduate first in the class here, spaceman?"

A hand swiped towards Donna, but she managed to duck and swiped playfully back. The Doctor tried to say something in reproach, but one look sent his way kept him silent. On her other side, Jack grinned and winked at the rest of the group.

"Oh, I like her, she's dangerous," Jack commented, trying to charm Donna further by surreptitiously putting a hand on the small of her back, near her quite prominent butt.

"Oi, you're not too pretty to slap, poster boy!" Donna scowled, brushing his wandering hand off.

All that was nice and good and Jack couldn't say that he didn't enjoy the banter and flirting, especially when both the women had so many soft curves and breasts as big as mountains - they could rival Gwen and even put her to shame! And Tommy's ass… He was sure that he could throw a coin and it would bounce back from those tight cheeks… But there was a reason for them to be here other than to provide him with variety of choice. Allowing his gaze to roam around the room, he noticed a place in one of the corners, near the far end of the bar, which had a radius of empty tables around it, as if the patrons of the bar were avoiding this place, although there didn't seems to be anything wrong with the vacant seats. There was only one person - or more accurately, two people who were doing the same job - who were capable of invoking that kind of reaction from the surrounding people while still remaining almost invisible. Without any reference to the others, Jack started to make his way through the tables and patrons towards the ignored place in the room.

"Lady Susan," Jack greeted the apparently empty space, to the puzzlement to everyone except the Doctor who appeared to be a lot better informed on things other people weren't. "I never thought I'd say this, but Death looks great on you, M'Lady."

"That must be one of your worst chat up lines ever, Captain Harkness," a female voice replied from what appeared to be thin air. But once the speaker had made herself noticeable, she began to become visible to the rest of the group. The woman was thin, with long black hair, and looked like an old-fashioned governess from a girl's school. "You know that your charms don't work on me, Captain."

"But she appeared out of nowhere. Who is she?" Donna inquired quietly from the Doctor. "Why couldn't we see her before she started talking?"

"Natural perception filter," the Doctor explained, in a tone that suggested she should know this already.

"A what?" Donna asked.

"My grandfather is Death," the woman answered, in what was probably an easier way for the humans to understand.

"I'm sorry," Donna said, full of condolences. "When did it happen?"

"No, you don't understand - my grandfather is Death with a capital D," the woman insisted stubbornly.

"And I just said I'm sorry, didn't I?" Donna said, her tone starting to turn from sympathetic to annoyed.

"Donna, she means that her grandfather's occupation is to collect the souls of the dead," the Doctor cut in, trying to stem further misunderstandings.

Donna stood there gaping at him, then turned towards the woman, making some strange noises that would not usually be expected from a human being. Some writers might use the term 'big like flying saucers' to describe the size that Donna's eyes had become, but we must point out that this term is inaccurate, due to the physical impossibility of such a thing happening. However, in order to give the readers an accurate idea of the scene playing at that moment, it's possible we might need to use that description after all.

"Now that we've established the important matter of your heritage, can we have some explanation of why are we here?" Jack asked, with little patience. "Because in the last three days, I was pulled through the Rift and dropped here, woke up in a muddy and stinky puddle, and was killed and dumped somewhere several times over!"

"That was on my request," Susan informed him.

"What, you hired the Assassin's Guild to kill me, despite knowing that it wouldn't do much than give me a headache in the long run?"

A small rat-like skeleton climbed the table, making squeaky noises, trying to attract their attention. It shrugged off a thick layer of dust from its black cape and, noticing it was being ignored, jumped off with an annoyed "Squeak."

"No, idiot, I asked the wizards from the Unseen University to summon you here," Susan explained, brushing distractedly at the dust that the Death of Rats had just got on the table. "My grandfather has some problems and you're the only one I could think of that's qualified to deal with Death without fear. Something is trying to meddle with my grandfather's job and I need help. He's missing."

"What, Death is missing?" Tommy asked, almost laughing. "But that's good, isn't it, no one dying?"

"No, it's not good," Jack explained, trying to kick off the annoying little rat skeleton, who had abandoned the desire to get the attention of the whole table, and was now pulling at his trousers. "This place has had a previous bad experience with people refusing to die when they should do. It was a mess and Death was depressed."

"Yeah, it's not like you lot have much problem with undead people," the Doctor commented tersely. His face had become cold, the Time Lord in his full glory, looking down on the rest of the table's occupants with the superior aura he tended to project when he decided that something was not the way he liked it. "You just integrate them into the Watch."

"That was different," Susan answered back, her voice equally cold, showing that his high-and-mighty act would not shake her. She was Death's granddaughter - what was one mere mortal to her, even if he was a Time Lord? "Back then, no one was dying, they just refused to die. But the zombie in the Watch, whatever his name is, is already dead, he just can't seems to understand it yet."

Listening to this insane chatter, Pamela didn't know what to think. She couldn't help wondering if she had finally cracked under the pressure of Hollywood and had started to imagine that she was living in one of the movies. The pallor of her face was a testament to her uneasy thoughts. It suddenly occurred to her that since they were talking about Death and zombies, she must be living in a horror movie - and in such movies, the cute blonde bimbo was the one who usually died first. Choking on her drink, she give a muffled scream and, by the time the others turned their attention to her, she was already lying on the floor in a faint. Worried, Donna went to check on her and give her some water, but the insensitive idiot of a Martian just shrugged and muttered a quiet, "Cultural shock."

"You're not all that exceptional here!" Jack quipped brightly. "We have a zombie doctor at Torchwood."

"I think I need a shot," Tommy commented and stood up to go to the bar.

"I could do with one as well," Donna shouted at him. "God, I just asked Tommy Lee to buy a drink for me," she mouthed at the Doctor in excitement, who just shrugged and turned his attention back to the enigmatic woman.

"All right, I can understand why you and the wizards might need me and the Captain," he allowed, leaning leisurely back in his chair, looking for all intents and purpose as if he had walked into the bar solely for the sake of a drink. "But what about the others? Why does anyone here need two Hollywood stars?"

"We don't," Susan said, and leaned towards him as if she was passing him some conspiratorial secret. "They came here by accident. But now that they are here, we all need to go on a trip."

* * *

><p>The Torchwood team looked at the strange black apparition, dumbfounded, unable to do more than squeak out a word. Rincewind's legs, however, were well-trained to avoid any and all meetings with Death – or, at least, if he met him, to evade him as quickly as he could. He jumped up, forgetting his dizziness after the journey through the Vortex, his sole mission to get to the cog wheel door and after that he would think on the run. After all, that's how he'd managed to stay alive after all the messes the wizards were constantly creating. He was running - until he realised that, although his legs were working, they weren't carrying him anywhere, because a large hand had a firm hold on the neck of his robes.<p>

"And where exactly do you think you're going?" asked a deep but nicely soft voice calmly. It sounded almost amused, probably smirking. Rincewind turned his head around a bit to see the arm that was holding him belonged to the man dressed in a three-piece suit. "You brought your pal here, so now you can explain to us what both of you are doing here, and where you came from!"

Rincewind tried to protest that Death was far from his pal and that he had nothing to do with bringing Him here, but his voice seemed to suddenly have deserted him. It was unfortunate because in a failure to run fast enough, his other weapon was to talk and talk until the person who held him started rocking back and forth and drooling incoherently.

"HOW DARE YOU IMPLY THAT I HAVE A MERE MORTAL FOR A…," a booming voice saved Rincewind from the attention of the young man, but it made him concentrate on the one creature he had spent a lifetime in trying to avoid. "A PAL…WHAT'S A PAL?" Death asked, looking puzzled. He was sure that he had learned most of the human's slang, however the meaning of some words still escaped him. He coughed awkwardly, despite not really needing to clear His throat, since he didn't have one, and no need to breath. "ANYWAY, I HAVE MY OWN AGENDA HERE!"

It was Owen who came around this time, bristling and quite frankly fed up with all the spooky things Torchwood had been through lately. He stopped just out of reach of the imposing black figure and tried to stare Him down – although, admittedly it was kind of hard staring down someone who had empty sockets with red fire in them instead of eyes.

"And who are you?" Owen asked.

"DEATH," the figure answered with a booming voice.

"Well, let me tell ya, pal, I've already faced Death a few days ago and beat him up," Owen answered proudly. It had been a scary experience, racing around the hospital trying to stop Death from taking its twelfth victim. But they had managed it in the end - or more accurately, Owen had stopped it, by facing it in a final battle. After all why would a dead man fear Death?

"I'M NOT HERE FOR YOU," Death's voice boomed around the underground base again, sending chills through the personnel, together with a heavy feeling of foreboding. If He hadn't come for Owen, the other logical question was, who had He come for? Surely it was the other newcomer, the wizard clothed in the funny dress. But the answer that followed froze the blood in their veins. "I CAME HERE FOR YOUNG MR JONES."

"No way," was the synchronised answer from the doctor and the two girls in the room, who instinctively stepped in front of their younger colleague to form a protective wall.

"You are not getting Ianto," Gwen informed Death, stepping forward stubbornly and projecting all her righteous anger.

Ianto pushed bravely around them and squeezed Gwen's hand reassuringly. He wasn't going to let them risk their lives for him. He was the least important in the team. Tosh was the technician, without whom the Hub wouldn't be able to function; Owen was of no interest to Death after all, so he didn't really risk anything. As for Gwen, if he had been feeling in a particularly nasty mood, he might have let her face Death and battle her stubborn wits with the entity on Ianto's behalf, but he was feeling generous today.

"I'm not letting you get in the fire for me," he told them and turned towards the black figure, avoiding the pitying looks that Gwen was throwing him, and trying to ignore the half-audible protests from Tosh. "So what's the matter? Someone's planning on letting the mould get sentient and take over the world, so they need to eliminate me? Or did Owen complain that he needs to start his suspicious experiments in the fridge again and I'm preventing him from doing it?"

The Death looked a bit taken aback and confused, clearly not understanding the humour in the dark sarcasm which underlay Ianto's words.

"NO, I NEED AN APPRENTICE!"


End file.
